


Down to Business

by JulyStorms



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Money would be his freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down to Business

**Author's Note:**

> For [Takedasangel](http://takedasangel.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Tomorrow is their birthday. This was written in about half an hour, but was quickly proofread. Feedback would be great if you have the time. :)

"You can't keep me here," he said to anyone who would listen. "I have money. Influence. Power. Nothing you do can keep me here."

He had to believe it, had to believe himself. If he didn't, he would rot in jail or he'd face a firing squad, or—he touched his neck gingerly—he'd hang, dangling in front of half of Tokyo. Money would be his freedom.

Money was more powerful than brute strength, more powerful than a decade or two of learning the sword. In the end, Takeda Kanryū was the strongest man alive and Battōsai knew it. The Oniwabanshū had defeated one gatling gun; it had taken four of them, four monsters who knew only the heat of battle, who knew only how to slaughter, and Kanryū, with rudimentary training, had slain them one after another as if they were koi in a shallow pond.

What use was brute strength? What use were the days and weeks and years spent training when one man could be stronger by simply turning a crank?

Perhaps the old arts were once powerful, but technology had advanced, had grown—and so had the people. Once the son of a tolerably well-to-do merchant, Kanryū had improved his situation until he had all the money he could ever dream of and more: mansions, horses, the finest dogs that could be bred… Money left him wanting for nothing.

Samurai and their ilk went hungry on the streets, having lost their only means of survival. It was too late for them, he was certain. They were too old and too set in their ways to see the new world springing up around them; they would die in transition or sink into their madness like Shinomori Aoshi.

Gatling guns were replaceable.

Aoshi's men were not. Bodies—yes; soldiers—yes. But comrades worthy of second and third chances: they were not expendable, not even to a man like Aoshi. Aoshi, who thought of battle and strength and cared little for anything else.

Yet Aoshi's four men had died. And for what? To take out a gatling gun—a gun that could be bought again and again with more money. They acted as shields for their mad okashira, and ran the gatling gun out of ammunition. It was almost sad, really, that in the end the only thing those monsters were good for were fleshy bullet shields.

He wondered, idly in his cell, if Aoshi's men had been happy to find an excuse to die.

Probably. It was that or watch their okashira descend further into madness. It was that or live following him down whatever dark path he chose to tread.

It was all right. The police knew about Shinomori Aoshi. He could hide in the shadows, but strength was temporary—vitality was  _so very temporary_. Money was eternal. Aoshi would grow old and tired eventually. The law would catch up to him. His list of crimes were heavy and he wouldn't have the money necessary to escape a hanging.

But money would set Kanryū free; he could go anywhere, do anything.

There were insurmountable sums hidden away in secret places, and the police were only human. Honorable combat was dead; honorable dealings were dead.

Kanryū crossed one leg over the other, smoothed down the tailored seams of his trousers, and waited.

He waited less time than he expected to.

An officer was close to the bars, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Kanryū could see the hope glinting in them; he had learned to recognize greed as a child. Greed was easily taken advantage of.

"Money?" the officer asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Kanryū did not move but to smile—an easygoing, trust-me smile while he thought about the gun hidden at the closest hideout; it was loaded and ten times better than what Tokyo's police issued. "Yes, money."

"How much? How are you going to make this worth my time?"

Kanryū uncrossed his legs, tilted his had charmingly to the side, and let his smile fall away to a more neutral expression. "I'm glad you asked."


End file.
